Un-freaking-believable!

Contrary to more ambiguous titles in the book world, this one tells you exactly what you will read about.

This story immediately throws you into a scenario of a devastating predicament for a young soldier, Louis Zamperini. Stranded for weeks in the middle of the ocean on a failing raft, enemy fire from above and sharks looming below. The author then leaves you hanging there in the uncertainty of survival and takes you to Zamperini's early years - all the while knowing that somehow he will end up in this unfortunate introductory scene.

And there was more to come. Violence, isolation, starvation and disease.  It is a true story through and through, and all I could think was, unbelievable. As in, how could one man have endured such atrocity? And, are humans really capable of this kind of brutality toward one another? This is a captivating story, a page-turner that forces you to refer back to the front cover multiple times, simply as a reminder that, as suggested by the title, this man indeed survives.

Here a few take-aways for me in the story:

1. War

It's horrible. It's outrageous. This World War II account takes you into the underbelly of human beings at their worst. I wish it were a thing of the past, but it is not. It is an ever-present reality for our world today, and I fear, for as long as people inhabit this earth. There's an observation in the book about the cost of human dignity. We ought never to forget what war costs, for all of us, everywhere.

2. Resilience

The recent Olympics reminded me of the kind of physical, emotional, and psychological strength that some people are capable of drawing out of themselves. But what if it isn't voluntary or for sport? What if it is a matter of life and death, a test of survival? To be living off a few grains of rice, to be beaten to a pulp, to be force-fed a whopping dose of terror, to be ripped violently of human dignity - and to keep going? Un-freaking-believable. That is resilience.

3. Redemption

We are never too far gone for redemption. And we ought to remember what kind of influence we can have on others in extending grace, love and an opportunity for healing. This part of the story was a surprise for me. We simply wanted our protagonist to survive, and he did. But thrive? Again, unbelievable.

Thank you, Laura Hillenbrand, for working so diligently and writing so beautifully to accurately share this one man's story.

Who else has read this book? What were your impressions?

Why Words Matter

Last week, I stood in line at a cafe behind a couple of Vanderbilt University students who just returned to campus for the beginning of the school year. The girl in front of me, dressed in her fashionable summer clothes and dangly jewelry, was inconvenienced that she could not use her meal card until next week. "Well, how am I supposed to pay for my meal then?" she asked in a huff. "I'm poor!"

Healthy women call themselves "fat."

People who haven't yet had lunch call themselves "starving."

A person annoyed with his 30-minute circumstance proclaims, "Just shoot me now!"

The words we use are relative to our experience. So you are very hungry, relative to what your stomach normally expects. Or you are not as skinny, relative to the airbrushed models on today's magazines. Or you are low on immediate cash, relative to what it was like before you had to take out student loans for a world-class college education.

Of course, the Vanderbilt student knows she isn't poor in the way the term was intended. And no American with a growling stomach from the long stretch between breakfast and lunch truly believes he or she is starving. And I imagine that someone who is annoyed just wants the annoyance to go away, and is not actually suffering something so drastic that dying would be better.

It just reminded me that words matter, and I want to be more careful about the statements I make without forethought.

When Atlas Shrugged, Compassion Crumbled

"I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine." This is the creed of Ayn Rand’s 1000+ page novel, Atlas Shrugged. It was written in the 1950’s from a woman who had grown up in communist Russia, and the story focuses on the negative consequences of regulating capitalism and individualism.

The book was a page-turner – at times because I was captivated by the mystery of the story and fascinated by Rand’s ability to take me into a world where I rooted for the characters that I would hesitate to endorse in my real life. The other way it became a page-turner was that I ended up skimming past several 30-page monologues (or rants) that were redundant and, quite frankly, self-indulgent. Rand’s arguments are compelling and worthy of consideration, but they were also disturbing – particularly reflecting a worldview that promotes selfish ambition for the sake of happiness and denies the responsibility that we have to one another.

Rand’s words state:

My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.

Atlas Shrugged is an upside-down world where acts of mercy and compassion are deemed sinful, and where selfishness and self-promotion are virtues.

I read this book through the dirt roads of Africa where the desert people of Marsabit are at the mercy of strangers to partner with them in the provision of water. I read this book in western Kenya where a thousand HIV-positive mothers, fathers and children are alive because of the life-saving drugs provided by PEPFAR (The President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief). I read this book in our nation’s capital as global forces gathered for the International AIDS Conference to protect those who dearly need it. And I read this book back in my inner-city neighborhood that is struggling through the implications of gentrification by the rich in the neighborhood of the poor.

I appreciate the novel’s warning against the destruction of society through communism. Yet, ultimately Ayn Rand’s story mocks the life I am committed to. She simplifies the world’s problems by suggesting that those who matter in the world are the ones who are the most intelligent, reasonable and powerful for their own sake. It is a “God helps those who help themselves” kind of worldview. I do believe in free markets and the rights of individuals. And I do not believe in handouts, and choose to model our work in Africa differently than traditional charity. But I do believe in the story of the Good Samaritan, and in the power of sacrificial love. Therefore, when Atlas shrugged, compassion crumbled.

When Love Walked In

Love comes in various forms, and I am convinced that it comes mostly through the people around us. Many of you have been following the story of my friend, Kabale, who has been thriving as an HIV positive community leader in the desert of Marsabit, Kenya. She was recently diagnosed with throat cancer, and requires a $4000 surgery to remove the tumor, a cost that is unobtainable for those living in extreme poverty.  Even with significant generosity from Kabale’s friends and family, any offering would still pale in comparison to the amount of money required for such an operation.

On Sunday July 15^th, Kabale hosted her community gathering to raise support for her surgery. As expected, those who are closest to her came to offer what they could. Most of the 100 guests were members of HIV/AIDS support groups who had been impacted by Kabale’s leadership and courage to be the first person to come out publicly about her HIV status.

One by one, women wrapped in brilliant fabrics and men in sandals and traditional caps came with their offerings – some with 300 shillings ($3.75), others with 500 shillings ($6.25) and a few with 1000 shillings ($12.75) – all as demonstrations of sacrificial and joyful love for their sister and leader. It was a magnificent picture of the way community ought to live. And with that demonstration of generosity still came the reality of limitation of resource and geography.

As they sat in fellowship with one another on that Sunday afternoon - knowing that the money they had pooled together was not enough - a surprise parade entered in. First, a group of teachers who had worked with Kabale in a local school. Then, the leaders of her church. And then national staff of our partner, Food for the Hungry. And then the clinicians of the Tumaini clinic where Kabale serves as community advocate. And finally, a group of government officials came in.

This broad array of community had battled all odds and collectively raised 280,000 shillings ($3,500) for Kabale. And there in her home was proof that love had walked in. I spoke with our friend Zachary, who was there that Sunday, and asked him if this is a normal occurrence for someone who is in need of significant medical support or if it was unprecedented.

“No,” he said, “this does not happen for everyone.”

So, why did it happen for Kabale? “Kabale is our hero,” he said. “She is the one who has given the people here hope for life. The school, church, government and hospital all know that their services have been successful because of her leadership. We all need her.” Blood:Water Mission (and many of you) have made an offering to ensure the rest of the expenses are covered, because she is our hero, too.

Today is the day of Kabale’s surgery. She is deep on my heart, and on the heart of so many others. May God be with her through the operation, and may she feel the prayers and love from all of us.

The Tapestry of Broken People

This week I walked through the Washington DC convention center filled with people who didn't look like they belonged to one another. Millionaires in business suits. Students in jean shorts. Women in saris and sandals. Muslims with head scarves. Gay men with AIDS ribbons. African bishops with collars. Politicians, NGO workers, musicians, rabbis, children, doctors, journalists, sex workers, pastors, scientists. There were more than 20,000 people from every corner of the world who convened together because they actually did have something in common: fighting AIDS.

HIV/AIDS has devastated our world. It is the cruelest of plagues that mocks the immune system, breaking it down so that it cannot survive basic infections that a healthy immune system could naturally fight. Worse than that, it carries with it a social stigma that most HIV positive people would claim is more personally and emotionally excruciating than the actual physical effects of the disease. The virus has taken millions of mothers, fathers, children and friends and has left a continent of orphans in the rubble of loss and grief. There is no current vaccine and there is no cure.

And yet, there has been so much progress since HIV/AIDS entered our human world 30 years ago. Today, HIV/AIDS is no longer a death sentence. It is a chronic disease that can be managed with the proper treatment, care and support. Today, an HIV positive woman can prevent passing the virus to her baby. Today, many people living with HIV/AIDS can be open about their status without being ostracized by their communities. Today, it is completely reasonable to believe in achieving an AIDS-free generation. This is REMARKABLE.

We are at tipping point in the fight against HIV/AIDS and we cannot back down. There are still too many people who do not know they are carrying the virus; too many people who don't have access to the life-saving drugs; too many girls and women who can't protect themselves from sexual violence; too many nations that have backed down in financial commitments to the Global Fund; too many fears by people who struggle to move past judgment.

Because HIV/AIDS affects the physical, social, emotional, spiritual and economical health of a person and a community, the fight against HIV/AIDS has required scientists, activists, corporations, development workers, philanthropists, healthcare providers, economists, congregations, and many, many others. They are as diverse as they come. Some of them have been working toward the end of AIDS since it first showed up 30 years ago. And some of them have recently joined the fight with fresh energy and passion. Some of them HIV positive. Some of them HIV negative. All of us HIV affected.

And as oddly matched as we all may seem, it is a beautiful tapestry of broken people who are bound by a relentless commitment to reach the end of HIV/AIDS; and I am so proud to be one of them.

When the World Breaks Your Heart

Sometimes just walking through the world will break your heart. Through the cold fog of the morning in Marsabit, Kenya, I went to greet Kabale (pronounced ka-bah-lay), our courageous leader and volunteer at the Tumaini Clinic. Several years ago amidst the cultural stigma and fear surrounding HIV/AIDS, Kabale was the first person to tell her community that she was HIV positive. She normally carries a strength that I envy, a powerful presence that commands your attention and an unconscious smile of a few missing teeth that makes you involuntarily smile back. And yet today, it all seemed to be missing. Kabale held an uncharacteristic stoicism, a heaviness that buried her smile and tempered her charisma.

   

Her first words to me this morning were, "I am found with cancerous growth in my throat." Cancer is a bad diagnosis for anyone. But for someone who is HIV positive, it is tragic. It's a double whammy of shitty luck.

Kabale has developed a large growth in her neck and she can no longer swallow or speak without severe physical pain. Her viral load used to be at a healthy level due to taking ARVs, but it is plummeting as her immune system struggles to keep up. Kabale needs immediate surgery to have the growth removed, and our clinic cannot perform such operations. She must go to Nairobi (a 20+ hour drive away on dangerous roads) and come up with the 300,000 Kenyan shillings (about $4,000 US) needed for the removal.

"I will be strong with the courage I have," she whispered to me. "What I want most is prayers. With prayer, God comes close to people."

Kabale stopped me from asking more, and changed the subject. "The HIV positive people here are getting the prayers you are sending and we are happily receiving the care through the funds to the clinic. We have 22 support groups now, and even the HIV positive men are joining. We will continue to grow."

Oh, Kabale. What a beautiful and faithful woman.

I found out that this Sunday, Kabale is hosting a harambe, a community fundraiser with her family and friends. They will cook food, and people will come with donations to Kabale. Most of her neighbors are living on less than $2 a day, so this is an unprecedented amount of money for a community such as this. My heart sinks at the enormity of it all. She may very well get the surgery, and find that there is more cancer in her body or that her immune system cannot sustain it.

Kabale has provided life for so many people here, and yet she struggles to save her own. The world so often seems unfair, and it can break your heart. This morning, pledges were already made on behalf of the staff of the Tumaini Clinic, Blood:Water Mission and the HIV/AIDS support group. I am reminded of the call to reciprocate love as often as we are given it.